


Sex and Sensuality

by Caides



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Canon Lesbian Relationship, F/F, Masturbation, Omorashi, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Urination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:40:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23483245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caides/pseuds/Caides
Summary: An evening with Jane Austen and Clara Oswald. A prank gets slightly out of hand.
Relationships: Jane Austen/Clara Oswin Oswald
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	Sex and Sensuality

_**FEED CONNECTING  
TESTIMONY OF** Jane Austen **and**_ Clara Oswald **.  
_FEED CONNECTED  
FEED STABLE_**

_“I could no more write a romance than an epic poem,” said I. “I could not sit seriously down to write a serious romance under any other motive than to save my life; and if it were indispensable for me to keep it up and never relax into laughing at myself or other people, I am sure I should be hung before I had finished the first chapter.”_

__

__

_She laughed at that, and pointed out that I had written several silly stories which could perhaps be termed as romances, and that I should not “put myself down,” however I assured her that I had no intention of taking my own life and sought to clarify that the most important word was “serious.”_

_She laughed again and challenged me to the literary attempt._

_I had known Miss Clara Oswald for only a short time, and many of the things I could write about her would surely make me appear of unsound mind, for her origins and her reason for seeking me out were so ludicrously unbelievable as to appear to be pure fiction. Yet, true they were._

_She and her companion, whom I have come to know as simply “the Doctor,” have shewn me the true expanse of nature and of one’s existence, and I have found myself reconsidering all that I had previously been led to believe. I have seen my place in this sphere of existence, and it is wondrously, liberating-ly (is that a new word?) tiny. As I have been exposed to this truth, I have found myself drawn to Clara Oswald._

_She has shewn herself to be a young woman of such radiant beauty and loving reverence for me that I must confess I have found myself smitten to such a degree that would surely be a cause for concern for my mother and father, were she not of my own sex._

_Her hair is a luscious dark brown and her face surely the most beautiful I have ever set eyes on, with elfin features and large brown eyes that sparkle with intelligence which belies her apparent youth. She has a small, pointed nose and childlike dimples. At first glance, she had seemed to me to resemble the subject of a Renaissance painting. Little had I anticipated to what degree that observation would hold true._

_“Would you derive such perverse pleasure from my embarrassment at the prospect?” said I._

_She chuckled again. “Maybe you’d be better than you think?”_

****  


She gave me a derisory snort. I’d read biographies of Jane before I met her, her letters to her sister and whatnot, so I kind of knew that she could sometimes have a low opinion of her own writing - “the most unlearned so-and-so who ever dared to be an authoress,” or whatever the quote is; you know, she even said those exact words to me once - but to experience it first-hand, repeatedly, was a bit frustrating.

I sighed. “Jane, come on, you must know what you’re capable of. I mean, okay, maybe “romance” isn’t your strong suit, if you say so, but…” I thought for a moment. “Unless you mean erotica or…?”

She blushed. She actually, properly blushed.

“I see,” I said.

“I couldn’t possibly…”

“Oh, come on,” I said, “a Jane Austen erotica? I’d buy it.”

****

  
_It was the height of summer, and on this day, we had stepped out early for a blissful walk through the city. Despite my frustrations with Bath and its preponderance of intolerable people talking nonsense to each other, it has some delightful vistas and I felt compelled to shew Clara my world as she had shewn me hers. We took in a play, and we discussed theatre. I myself enjoy the form, and delighted in taking part in many family plays in my youth, but Clara spoke of how she dislikes performing; she once auditioned for a production, which involved having to sing in front of people, and “froze up,” by which I took her to mean that she was paralysed by fear._

_After a visit to Sidney Gardens, we walked back across Pulteney Bridge, upward along Milsom Street to the Royal Crescent and back down along the Gravel Walk to Queen Square. Clara remarked that Bath remained somewhat unchanged in her time, however she refused to tell me anything of my own personal future, nor that of the world at large, save for the obvious fact that my work will be remembered for many years to come._

_This notion confounds me somewhat, for I think I may boast myself to be, with all possible vanity, the most unlearned and uninformed female who ever dared to be an authoress. I find my thoughts returning to this prospect again and again, as I consider what the people of Clara’s time could possibly find so engaging in my works._

_We dined at half after three, before resuming our wanderings toward Prior Park, stopping for some time at the beautiful Palladian bridge. We had a very pleasant afternoon upon which I shall think with tenderness and delight. We had made certain to drink copious amounts of cider, to combat the heat, which, while initially pleasant and not so hot that it kept us in a continual state of inelegance, nevertheless grew increasingly oppressive as the day wore on._

****  


Apparently, water wasn’t safe to drink in this period, so people drank things like beer, ale, cider and wine, even the kids. Wait, I don’t mean they drank their kids… You know what I mean. Well, not exactly; they drank something called small beer - beer with low alcohol content. Jane and I, though, we had to “settle” for lots and lots of cider to keep ourselves hydrated. By the time we got back to Jane’s, around sunset, we were both a tiny bit drunk. We went to her room.

This was when I asked her about writing erotica. I don’t know why. I guess I just wanted to wind her up; embarrass her and have a bit of fun.

Apparently, I’d succeeded.

She smiled, and it melted me.

“If I were to write such a thing, would I be able to entice you to follow in my footsteps?”

I let out a, “Ha!!” I grinned. “I’m no writer.”

“But you claim to teach English,” she countered. “Although at times, I understand few of the words you speak.”

“Well, the language has changed a lot since your time,” I said, “but I could maybe have a go, provided no one else ever reads it. I wouldn’t consider myself unlearned or uninformed but I wouldn’t dare to...”

I was about to say “seriously write a novel” (or even a short story), but then I realised that I was about to pretty much parrot Jane’s own words back to her.

She seemed to almost read my mind; she was good at that. “Were you perhaps about to denigrate your own abilities, as you so chastised me for doing?”

“Yeah, but I’m not you,” I said. “You’re Jane Austen.”

“Indeed I am,” she said, “although I’m not entirely sure what that means.”

I smiled again, studying her face. The portrait of Jane by her sister Cassandra wasn’t that far wrong. Yeah, it might be really unflattering but the basic face shape was pretty much right, and the hazel eyes and the auburn hair matched the descriptions of her. Well, they would, I suppose.

“Well,” Jane said suddenly and firmly, “I shall take your request under consideration, but only should you agree likewise.”

I sighed. “Fine,” I said with weary resignation.

“Good,” Jane replied with a wry smile. “The wig is wet; shall we ready ourselves for bed before supper? The sun has conspired to make this dress most unsuitable to wear any longer.”

It was still early but I knew what she meant; my own dress was clinging to me. The only problem was that I didn’t have anything else to wear. Jane assured me that Cassandra wouldn’t mind if I borrowed one of her nightdresses - we had the place to ourselves tonight - but then said something that made me raise my eyebrows.

“Of course, you are perfectly welcome to sleep as nature intended.”

I grinned. “Oh yeah?”

Just for a second, Jane looked embarrassed. “Forgive me,” she said, “I find my morals corrupted. I have spent far too much time around you.”

“Cheeky,” I said. “Well, I could do with a wash.” I sniffed the air; we’d both spent a lot of time in the scorching heat. I knew that personal hygiene wasn’t of the same standard these days as in my time, and I wondered if I’d be able to lay my hands on some soap.

Jane smiled. “As could I,” she said, and made her way to a wooden cabinet, which she then unlocked with a small key she pulled out of a fruit bowl which sat on top of it. She reached inside and pulled out a wash bowl. “I’ll fetch some water.”

With that, she disappeared for a few minutes. I didn’t notice then that after locking it back up, she’d absently taken the key to the cabinet with her.

While Jane was gone, I awkwardly fought my way out of my dress and peeled off my petticoat. I was still wearing my 21st Century bra and knickers, which had looked very strange to Jane the first time she’d seen them.

She returned carrying the bowl of water and two cloths or flannels, and stopped in the doorway to take in the sight. Then she smiled at me and set down the bowl on the chair at her writing desk, placing the cloths and a bar of soap she’d carefully concealed in her hand, down next to it.

She turned and met my gaze.

“Strip,” I commanded in my best Teacher Voice.

“I beg your pardon,” she said.

“You heard me,” I replied. “Take off your clothes.”

There was an awkward pause - I hate those - before she gave me a smile that told me she wasn't going to take any shit from me this evening.

“I think not,” Jane said. “I would not wish to inflict such a sight on your delicate eyes. Perhaps you would indulge me first?”

“Spoilsport,” I said.

I stripped naked without breaking eye contact, and tried to keep my expression unreadable.

****  


_Clara removed her garments and held them at arm’s length before dropping them to the floor. She seemed to be trying to entice me into something more than simply washing our bodies; perhaps to engage in a game of flats as we had once before._

_As I cast my eye over her delightful form, taking it in in detail for the first time, the thing which struck me as most odd was the absence of any hair on her body, save for that on her head, which somewhat shocked me and gave her the appearance of a depiction of Venus by Bordone or Titian. Her skin resembled the smooth marble body of a Greek sculpture and I am forced to wonder how her stockings do not fall down. Her mound was bare, free of any sort of down, in stark contrast to my own unruly thicket of dense curls, which made her appear more naked than naked, her small cleft fully exposed._

_I cast my eye upward to her breasts - for she was most definitely a grown woman - and to her beautiful face, looking at me with a look of sultry anticipation, and wished to do unspeakable things to her; I did indeed find my morals corrupted._

_I turned away. “Oh Clara,” said I. “the things we have done… You have turned me into a debauchee.”_

_“You love it,” she purred._

_I nodded. “Indeed I do. Come here,” said I._

_She held my gaze for a moment, and walked toward me, the expression on her face indecipherable. I reached out and stroked her hair, and she closed her eyes and nestled her cheek into my hand._

_I resisted the compulsion to press my lips against hers, and turned and reached for a cloth. I wetted it and brought it to Clara’s face. She jumped slightly in surprise as the wet cloth made contact, and opened her eyes. She then smiled, closed her eyes again and allowed me to wipe all traces of make-up from her face, for it was not needed._

_I moved the cloth down to her neck and further along her body, stopping occasionally to wet the cloth again. I gently lifted her left arm, which she then raised further and held aloft as I washed her underarm, which was also bare. I did this again with her right arm before wetting and wringing the cloth down her front, the water dripping over her breasts and stomach. She gasped sharply and let out an adorable giggle, shivering as she did so._

_“That was nice,” said Clara, then she shivered again, her skin breaking out in tiny goose pimples, which surprised me somewhat as the temperature was still warm._

_I continued my ministrations, washing her from head to toe, running the soap and water over her body. I used both the cloth and my bare hands, running them across her breasts and buttocks, moving down to her legs. As I moved my hands up and down her inner thigh, she shivered again._

_She had appeared to be immersed in her own world, her eyes closed and her faint smile dreamlike. Now, she emerged from her reverie and appeared mildly disturbed, just for a moment._

_“Are you all right?” asked I._

_“Yep,” returned she, slightly too quickly. “Peachy keen.” Her smile didn’t meet her eyes._

_“Are you certain?”_

_Clara nodded. “It’s just… is there a bathroom?”_

_“Pardon me?”_

****  


There was another side effect of drinking so much cider.

I needed a pee.

Once Jane understood this, what she did next was _evil._

****  


_“I see,” said I._

_This amused me. Clara Oswald, who, despite her kind and vivacious exterior, held an undercurrent of regal superiority and a somewhat controlling nature, was utterly at my mercy._

_“There is a bourdaloue in the cabinet,” said I._

_A faint, weary smile spread across her angelic features. “Thanks,” said she. “Will you, you know…. turn your back?”_

_“Pardon?”_

_“I am not doing my business in front of you,” returned Clara as she moved to the cabinet, only to find it locked._

__

__

__

__

_Her expression fell as she tried the door again. “Did you lock this again?”_

_I nodded, playing the innocent._

_When I did not move, her eyebrows raised questioningly. She held out her hand, palm open, as if expecting me to deposit something in it._

_“Can I have the key?” Her voice was level and she spoke slowly, as if she knew and did not expect to like my answer._

_“No,” said I._

_She stared at me for a moment, her expression unchanging, then her face became a picture of incredulity. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”_

_“I must have mislaid it,” I lied._

_The tone of my voice betrayed my insincerity._

_“Come on, Jane,” said Clara, “don’t muck about.”_

_I pretended to not understand her meaning and glanced around the room._

_“Jane…” said she, drawing out the vowel in my name as if in warning._

_I moved to the bedroom door and turned the key in the lock before extracting it and palming it away with deft sleight of hand. “I have no intention of giving it to you.”_

_“Why not?!” exclaimed Clara with increasing worry in her voice._

_“It amuses me,” said I._

_She glared at me. “You’re not serious? Jane, come on.”_

_When I did not reply, she picked up her petticoat and moved toward the door. “There’s got to be another…”_

_She then noticed that I had taken the key from the lock._

****  


She’d taken the bloody key.

The other key, from the main door. The cheek! This reminded me of when the TARDIS hid my bedroom (long story). Jane might be an amazing writer, a brilliant comic observer and - strictly between ourselves - a phenomenal kisser, but she’s a crafty bitch.

__

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“Where is it?” I said.

“Where is what?” she replied.

“Don’t take the mick,” I warned her. “You know what; the door key. Or, preferably, the other one, to the cabinet.”

She ignored me again, examining her nails. I kept expecting her to whistle nonchalantly.

So, I was locked in with one of history’s greatest writers, desperate for a pee, while said writer took great pleasure in watching me squirm. What had I done? Why was she so determined to wind me up and humiliate me.

“Open the door, Jane,” I demanded.

Nothing.

I snapped. “Jane Austen, open that bloody door right fucking now!”

She gasped. “Such profanity is most unbecoming of a young lady.”

“I’ll bloody profane you in a minute.”

Maybe if I could get out, I thought, I could find another chamberpot somewhere in the house, or an outhouse? Or at least somewhere dark and secluded to squat down.

In desperation, I tried in vain to wiggle the lock. I don’t know what I expected but… argh! I’d forgotten how annoyed this made me, actually, at least at first.

This went on for several minutes.

“This isn’t funny, I’m bursting, let me out!” I railed at her.

She laughed. I was naked, vulnerable and desperate and she bloody laughed at me.

****  


_She looked so… small._

_She was several inches shorter than myself, but somehow I had not noticed this fact until now._

_Her expression was pained, and I had had my fun. As I was about to relent and acquiesce to her protestations, she suddenly launched herself at me and began to search my person for the keys I had concealed in the lining of my dress._

_I let out a cry of surprise, which turned into laughter as Clara began to tickle me into supplication. I struggled and attempted to wrest myself from her grip. “Clara, no!”_

_“Then give me one of the damn keys,” said she._

_For a moment, I thought she appeared to laugh as I responded in kind, her nakedness making her more vulnerable. “No!” cried Clara, “Jane, seriously, don’t tickle me, I can’t...”_

_Her sentence trailed away as I pushed her against the door. Then, her lips were against mine and her hands were on my behind, grasping and kneading as she kissed me with a ferocity that took me by surprise._

_As always, her height, or rather her lack of it, forced her to stretch to reach me. I separated myself from her to enquire; “Would you like me to fetch you a step-stool?”_

_“Cheeky mare.”_

_After a minute of kissing, she breathed; “Please…” her voice and expression pained. “I can’t hold it.”_

_Her plaintive cry defeated me. “All right,” said I. I moved with urgency to the cabinet, extracted the key and retrieved the bourdaloue._

****  


I couldn’t hold it much longer.

The sound of the key turning in the lock was music to my ears, and when Jane brought out this tiny thing that looked like a gravy boat, I wasn’t exactly thrilled; it was basically a potty, and I hadn’t used one of those in thirty years, but “needs must” and I was desperate. Literally.

If I’m honest though, there was something kind of thrilling about all this. I wasn’t used to not being in control. I usually liked calling the shots, but part of me was enjoying being supplicant; letting her wash me like a child, watching her watch my increasing desperation. She was getting off on it. She wouldn’t let on, but she was.

I was about to explode, but something stopped me running straight to the pot. Instead, I adopted the most seductive voice I could muster. “You’re enjoying this,” I said.

Rather than answer me straight out, she just held out the potty thing and said; “Here. Relieve yourself, for goodness’ sake.”

“You want to watch me don’t you,” I purred at her.

“Clara, I…” Jane stammered.

I stood with my legs crossed and my hand tucked between them, clenching every muscle in my body.

“Clara, you’ll wet my floor!” Jane pleaded. “Now that I’ve given in, you don’t wish to go?”

That triggered a memory. One of being about… five, I guess? Coming back from my grandparents’ house in the Lake District and needing a wee on the long drive back. Mum had scolded me for not going before we left, even when prompted; I’d said I hadn’t needed to go then. Dad took us off the main road and we stopped by some woodland. Mum took me while dad waited in the car, but when it came down to it, I couldn’t go. Not outdoors, even in the middle of nowhere, just in case someone turned up. So mum let me into a secret; that she needed to go too and that we’d both have to use the wood’s facilities.

I’d told her she should have gone before we left. She’d laughed at that and called me a cheeky monkey, but it did the trick. I remember being surprised that she didn’t have a winky like my dad, but that her front bum was covered in fur.

Where was I? Ah, yes. I held out my hand and pleaded with my eyes for Jane to bring the pot to me; I felt like I couldn’t move. She rushed to me and, as I moved my legs apart, she positioned it between them.

I finally relaxed, and I could hear my mum’s words from all those years ago.

“Oh my stars, you did need to go!”

****  


_The stream gushed from Clara and did not stop until the bourdaloue was almost full. In fact, I worried that it would overflow._

_“Goodness!” said I, uncertain as to how one so small could produce so much water._

_When she had finished without saying a word, I carried the bourdaloue very carefully and placed it back in the cabinet. I retrieved an old newspaper from the pile next to it and returned to Clara. I was about to hand it to her when I was suddenly compelled to perform the act myself._

_Without taking my eyes from hers, I rubbed the paper between her legs and wiped her. Clara did not object to this, and gasped. She took hold of my wrist and guided my hand. When I pulled my hand away to dispose of the paper, she moved her own hand to where mine had been and started to touch herself in the most obscene way._

_I could scarcely take my eyes away from the sight. Her hand moved so quickly that the motion became a blur, and her eyes rolled back in her head. I watched her for several minutes, all the while fighting the miscreant urge to do the same._

_I decided to finally remove my own clothing, Clara watching me intently as I did so until I appeared before her as nature intended._

_Eventually, she climaxed, her face freezing into a portrait of the highest point of extasy and releasing an almost pained sob and another short stream from between her legs. Her grateful and gratified heart could hardly restrain its expressions within the language of tolerable calmness._

****  


Okay, I had a wank. I couldn’t help it; I was so fired up that the mood took me. When I came (hard), Jane stared at me in disbelief.

As soon as I’d come down from the high, my head cleared; you know how you can just get really single-minded about it, where you just need to orgasm and once you do, it all just goes away and you sometimes feel really embarrassed?

Well, I suddenly felt very, very aware that I was 100% naked.

“Well,” I said, blushing. “That… happened.”

“Indeed it did,” Jane replied in sort of amused disbelief. She looked down at herself. “We both now seem to be in a state of undress.”

I smiled and nodded. “Looks that way,” I said, and I moved to wrap my arms around her.

“ _You_ ,” I said, “are the _worst._ ”

****  


_Clara promised to take her revenge for my “prank,” and I look forward to seeing what profligacy her miscreant mind can devise._

_For now, I hope that in recording the evening’s events, I have fulfilled her challenge to commit an erotica to paper. In reading this account, I hope she finds my recollection suitably arousing._

****  


Oh, dear god, you’re telling me she had the same idea?

Damn it!


End file.
